The First Christmas Eve
by VeniaAmuletum
Summary: A tale of the first Christmas Eve after the war... All the best of the gang venture out to attempt to celebrate the holidays at the Three Broomsticks- and worlds collide, mistletoe strikes, snowflakes spellbind, ugly sweaters shock! ...On this one fateful night.
1. Flakes

**A/N: **Hello, welcome, and Happy Holidays! This is a tale of the first Christmas Eve after the war, made up of ten short stories from ten different points of view... I have to say, I didn't realize until I was well into planning/writing it, but it is very much a Harry Potter-Love Actually! If you haven't watched that movie, it is one of my favorites and you SHOULD right now, because it is the season:)

Anyway, ENJOY, please review with any feedback, it's very helpful to me and I love to hear from you!

Everything owned and created by J.K. Rowling.

**Part One**: Brought On By The Flakes

* * *

"Oh, bloody, buggering-" Ginny Weasley sucked her finger furiously as it throbbed and sent needles of pain through her whole arm. She inspected it with narrowed eyes, and then turned her glare on the offender, a gleaming and bubbling pitcher of Butterbeer that she had caught just in time as it rocketed towards her.

"Oooh, lads! She's a fiery one, this one!" One of the more obnoxious Christmas Eve drunkard-patrons of the Three Broomsticks leaned in to whisper dramatically to his friends, "Though I 'spose we could 'a guessed tha' from the hair!"

Ginny considered the professional repercussions of _actually_ setting this man on fire for a moment, before she settled on saying with a wry smile,

"Oh, I am, but you don't want to find out _how_ fiery, Mr. Bazzles." She gave him a look that stopped his dopey grin short- one of the many tricks she had learned from her mum.

She pressed a rag to the table, soaking up the spills of foaming Butterbeer from in front of him, and walked back to the bar, enjoying the small silence she left behind.

"How're you doing, kid?" Rosmerta appraised her with an amused smile, as she filled three drink orders at once. Ginny watched the drinks pour themselves without a drop wasted, and fly smoothly across the pub to land on the tables for which they were intended. She laughed and shook her head. Rosmerta was the only witch in the world who could take on the drunken, holiday force of one hundred and fifty pub-goers without batting an eye. She was also the only witch in the world who could get away with calling _her_ kid. Besides Tonks, maybe.

"Oh… about as well as expected. A complete disaster," Ginny grinned at her, resting her head in her hands. An ache had started in her chest at the thought of Tonks.

"You'll get the hang of it soon enough," the curvaceous bar-maid assured her, "and with you I don't have to spare a _moments'_ worry about you not being able to stand up for yourself, do I?"

She gave Ginny a devilish eyebrow, and Ginny wondered _how_ Rosmerta's powers of doing a million things at once could possibly extend to hearing exchanges all the way across the pub.

"No, I suppose not." Ginny sighed, straightening up, and getting ready to get back to work. She wasn't altogether sure she _wanted_ to get the hang of this job, if she was being honest. It had come about in the most bizarre of ways- Mundungus Fletcher had mentioned to her _mother _that Rosmerta needed help, and the unlikely team of her mum and _Ron_ had pushed and prodded her into offering her hand for the holiday rush. She suspected Ron had just wanted more reason to come into the Three Broomsticks to skulk around after its beautiful proprietor- an even more ridiculous prospect than usual, seeing as he was now in couple's-haven with Hermione Granger. And her mum had probably been sick of Ginny's funk, of having her moping around the Burrow for days on end. Ginny was damn sick of it too, and in the end, _that_ was why she had taken the job. She needed to get out and move on from the sorrow that had gripped her since the war. And her mother didn't need the extra worry- she had her own grief to tend to.

She had been only momentarily uncomfortable about the title of bar-maid, before she looked around at the world that had kept moving as she lay in her childhood bedroom for months, and realized that it was in a state of complete disarray- _Ginny Weasley_ working in a bar after fighting in the war, would not even be of note. _Most_ of the population was stuck in odd roles and jobs at the moment, like puzzle pieces jammed together in all the wrong ways, only to make the temporary and lumpy shape of a square.

The door to the pub opened, inviting in a swirl of icy wind, and Ginny's heart leapt. _George_. She stared, and the pint of Butterbeer she was filling, overflowed onto the counter. She hastily stopped it, and charmed away the mess, still staring.

Her brother, to her knowledge, had literally only been out in public once since the war. And that was to the mass funeral service held for the members of the Order only a week after the Battle of Hogwarts. He looked shellshocked to be suddenly standing amidst what must be the loudest and most rambunctious group of people in Hogsmeade, but he looked more whole than she had seen him in months.

She stopped what she was doing, and pushed her way across the bar to him. He saw her coming, and they met in a bear hug halfway across the room. His jacket was cold and sprinkled with melting snowflakes, but she felt as though she could melt insdie her own warm heartache at seeing him out. After Fred's death, Ginny had taken it upon herself, if only as some small distraction from her own unbearable grief, to be by George's side whenever he would tolerate her. They had sat together in days of silence, and when he was ready, they had relived their shared memories for hours into the night.

She pulled away, and looked at him. He smiled. There were the smallest traces of humor back in his eyes, and she felt her own eyes smart with tears.

"Oy, don't you dare get weepy with me, Ginevra Weasley- or do you want to scare me back into hiding again?"

She shook her head violently, laughing.

"What are you doing here?"

"Our brothers decided it was time to burn away our sorrows with the Fire of the Gods," he said, waggling his eyebrows, and very unnecessarily mouthing, '_Firewhiskey_'.

"Oh, lovely, I should expect the volume level in here to triple then, shall I?"

"You should. I forgot you were working here," he glanced around dubiously, "doesn't seem the place for a _seventeen-year-old_ who hasn't even _finished school yet_." He fixed her with a condescendingly stern look that might have once made her blood boil, but tonight made her heart sing with pleasure.

"Take it up with mum and Ron," she said dismissively. George snorted.

"_Right_- Ron. I might just have to take it up with him- 'our little sister is not to be used as a pawn in your boyhood daydreams'. _Come to think of it_, it was his idea that we meet up here tonight!"

They shared a look of amused exasperation, and Ginny led him to a table that had just emptied, near the bar. She left him there, looking slightly overwhelmed but pleased to be out, and went to help a mildly-flustered Rosmerta at the bar. She poured Butterbeer, Firewhiskey, Drubles Schnapps, Port, Wine, Champagne- sending trays soaring across the room and carrying pints to the tables whose occupants looked like they may not be able to take their own drinks from the hovering trays.

After a few minutes of this, the door to the pub opened again, and a familiar tingle in Ginny's spine made her freeze. She didn't need to look up to know that it was him. She concentrated on the sickles in her hands as every nerve in her body strained to defy her and look at him. A rustle of whispers and talk was rippling through the room, confirming what that damned sixth-Harry-Potter-sense in her already knew. She sighed. She could feel him walking over, just like she could always _feel_ his every move, and she put the hopelessly uncounted gold down on the counter.

He was moving awkwardly through the crowd, scanning with low eyes for her brothers. George, the only punctual one, was barred from his view by a group of caroling witches, and Ginny could see the momentary panic flit across Harry's face as he realized he was alone in a sea of admiring (and plastered) strangers. As usual, the pure boyishness of his reaction gripped her heart fiercely, and she couldn't stop herself from calling out,

"Harry! Over here."

He looked around quickly, and relieved, made his way over to the bar.

"Hey, Ginny." He smiled a small, friendly smile, and then looked at her with slight confusion. "Er- what are you doing back there?"

She laughed, a little forcedly, and struck a pose to display her apron.

"Working. Or helping, I should say. For the holidays-," she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "-really... it boils down to being swindled by Ron into giving him an excuse to see more of Rosmerta."

"Oh?" Harry looked amused, "_You_, duped by Ron? Blimey the world _has_ changed…"

They both smiled, and silence fell. His hair was disheveled as ever, and was dusted with a fair amount of sparkling snowflakes. Ginny's heart throbbed strangely- she was still not used to being around Harry after the war. They had known each other _so_ closely for those few short months two years ago… but his disappearance with her brother and Hermione, the end of the war, and the half a year that followed made her feel like those stolen months were from another _lifetime_. They still hadn't addressed it; merely had fallen back into the awkward, surrogate-family, nearly-friends roles that they had filled in each other's lives for the five years previous.

She had daydreamed during that horrible year of being in the dark, not knowing if any of them would survive, that _if_ they did, they might pick up naturally and be together again. But she had not factored in the very real toll that grief, time, and suffering would take on them all.

He cleared his throat, and ran a hand through his hair a little uncomfortably. Snowflakes sprang from the unruly black mass, and rained down on the bar and herself. She could feel them melting on her flushed skin, and sticking in her hair and lashes. He started a little,

"Oh!… Sorry." His voice faded away, and his eyes softened as he looked at her. Ginny's heartbeat quickened. His eyes travelled slowly over the sparkling flakes in her hair, and fell to rest on hers. For an instant she thought she saw the old longing hidden there, before they clouded with something more complex, and he looked away.

"My word, there's a celebrity among us!"

George had risen to join them, clapping Harry on the back and grinning. Harry looked a little startled to see George, but then a grin broke out on his face as well, and the two boys hugged like brothers.

"Good to see you, mate," Ginny heard Harry say, a little muffled, into George's shoulder. He glanced back at her briefly as George led him to his table, and she could see the slight stitches of guilt that had crept into the shadows of his face. She felt her temper flare. He had saved the bloody world, and he was still going around feeling guilt-ridden about every single casualty, she was sure of it.

If possible, the bar became ten times _busier_ as the hour grew later, and Ginny found herself without a single second to think. The rest of her brothers, along with Fleur and Hermione, trickled in, but she barely had time to greet them.

At quarter after nine, Rosmerta ducked out to bring in more cases of Butterbeer, leaving Ginny with her tables. Ginny went to check on them, and immediately wished she had chosen to neglect them instead. Sitting at the very first table, was Draco Malfoy.

They froze when they saw each other, and while he didn't roll his eyes outright, he let them drift down to her apron and back up to her face, smirking pointedly.

"Bugger- What do you need." She asked flatly, promising herself she would remain calm no matter what.

"Is that any way to speak to a _customer_, Weasley?" he asked lazily. He rattled his empty glass of ice. "I'm having Volcano Vodka, but I think what I _need_, is Rosmerta…"

"I'm perfectly capable of getting that for you, _Sir_," she said as sarcastically as she could through clenched teeth. "Just wait a minute."

"I'll no doubt wait ten-"

"-Hello, Ginny!"

Ginny looked around quickly, and her irritation was instantly washed away.

"Luna!" she exclaimed, hugging her friend tightly. "Happy Christmas- how _good_ to see you- I'm so sorry I had to cancel lunch on Saturday, I-"

Malfoy cleared his throat obnoxiously.

"I'm _getting it, Malfoy_, shut up before I have you chucked out," she snapped, loosing her promised calm as always. A few tables away, she heard Mr. Bazzles intone, 'Oooh! Tell him, lass!'.

"That's alright," said Luna mildly, "you're in the middle of working, I won't keep you. Hello, Draco! I haven't seen you since I was imprisoned at your Manor. How are you?"

In true Luna fashion, her tone and face were pure and pleasant. Malfoy blanched, staring up at her, some trace of a memory flickering across his face.

"Oh, I've made you uncomfortable. It's alright, really. Everyone thinks your family are evil, but I remember how you stood up for Richard Tulley once in my third year when you thought no one was around. I think people would be surprised to know that you're quite good, really." She gave him a friendly smile, and then smiled at Ginny,

"I think I'll go try and find Neville and Hannah. I'm pleased you're working here though, I think it's nice you want to give people Holiday Cheer…" she shuffled past a few staring tables, making her way towards the bar. Ginny grabbed Draco's empty glass. He was staring at the back of Luna, a most uncharacteristically astonished expression on his face. Ginny backed away slowly, but he didn't notice her leave. His eyes were still fixed on Luna. Shaking her head, she followed Luna's path towards the bar.

She filled Malfoy's drink and banished it across the room... and then filled ten more orders. Predictably, the table of her brothers was the loudest in the room, growing exponentially louder with each round of drinks she served. Shaking her head, but feeling slightly proud, she dipped into the restroom for a moment of peace. Upon exiting, she was accosted by Ron, who smashed her into a bear-hug and insisted forcibly that she accompany him, Harry, and George outside to set off some 'Bungdombs'.

The air was crisp and full of the silence of falling snow, and Ginny instantly felt grateful for her belligerent brother's insistence. Even with the Dungbombs that George began setting off at once, the night outside was a hundred times more peaceful than the bar inside, and she felt herself relax. The boys began setting off the Dungbombs in Fred's name, and she smiled at their rambunctious happiness.

"TO FRED!" They shouted together, as a particularly loud and smelly bomb went off, clinking their glasses and drinking merrily. George offered her his glass, and she accepted it readily.

"Happy Christmas, Fred," she murmured, taking a small sip of the Firewhiskey. Her heart ached and glowed at the same time as she caught George's eye. Fred was still very much with them.

"Crikey, I've got to piss," Ron announced. He also let it be known that he would refrain from relieving himself against the building, _only_ because they were in the company of a lady.

"How chivalrous," Ginny noted, amused. George stumbled in after Ron, proclaiming that they would have a race to the stall.

The air seemed to tighten, as it always did whenever Ginny realized she was alone with Harry. He watched the back door to the pub swing closed, and then looked down at her.

"It's almost like the world is back to normal," he said distantly, and Ginny could hear the hope in his voice. She nodded vaguely, knowing that he knew just as well as she, how long it would truly take for all their lives to heal again. But she could pretend with him.

He was looking at her with that unreadable face again, and she was once more aware of snowflakes falling on her hair and lashes.

"You're bloody beautiful- You know that?" he said hoarsely.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she didn't say anything. He hadn't been asking for a reply. He moved closer, brushing the snow from her eyebrows with a warm hand.

"God, Ginny. I'm happy you're back," he said quietly. She didn't know exactly what he meant- she hadn't thought he had been all that aware of how much of a struggle the past few months had been for her. His eyes were glassy and slightly unfocused. She grinned.

"You're drunk."

He grinned back.

"I am."

The hand that was on her face fell to his side, and after a moment of looking at each other, he nodded towards the door, still smiling. She took his arm, feeling suddenly at ease, and they walked in soft silence through the fresh snow to the door.

A charm of clarity seemed to have fallen on them with the flakes of glittering snow. Ginny didn't know what would happen; where, when, or _if_ they would ever pick up where they left off. But she knew that she loved him. He was her family, her friend, a soul that her own responded to like a mirror. She knew she didn't have to be a stranger anymore.

And that was enough for now.

* * *

**For the 25 Days of Christmas Challenge**


	2. Cookies

**2. ****'Fluffy Christmas Cookies!'**

Cookbooks were always so _vague_ compared to textbooks.

Hermione frowned, biting her lip, at the few short lines of instruction in the book in front of her. No good at all. She had taken to doing most of the work by hand- after a very _poorly_ explained cracking spell had caused an egg to explode all over her new blouse.

Casting a heat charm on the oven, she inspected the bowl of dough in front of her. What was it _supposed_ to look like? Surely the lumps would smooth out in the high temperatures? Her parents had been so adamantly sugar-free, and her palate more in favor of salt anyhow, that she had never actually _made_ cookies before.

She picked up a handful, and mashed it into a ball, setting it on the tray. Cautiously, she did another. _Just like potions. Or herbology_. She told herself.

Completing twelve little round balls, she slid the tray into the oven, and consulted the cookbook to make sure she hadn't missed anything.

Feeling uneasy, she waited.

'Fluffy Christmas Cookies!', the title of the page promised. 'Fluffy', he had said, when describing his mother's cookies. She had laughed at him, and he had been instantly offended, daring her to try one and _not_ attribute 'fluffiness' to them. Then he had challenged her to make some that came even close.

And she could never seem to forgo one of his challenges. Her cheeks pinkened as she remembered a particularly bold dare he had presented her with two nights previous, in the quiet dark of her bedroom at midnight. She was never able to back down once he got that gleam in his eye. '_You won't_' it always seemed to sing at her. And she always would.

She lost herself in flushed recounting of the time they had spent together lately. The boy who had been her best friend and at times, her worst enemy at others, for seven years. The _man_ she had fallen in love with while she wasn't paying attention to her own feelings- sometime between the day he saved her from the Troll in the bathroom, and the day he saved her from Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor.

She was startled to her senses by the magical timer she had set, which sent a burst of steam and a whistle up to alert her of the completion of her cookies. She took them out to let them cool.

She heard the front door open, and someone cursing and stamping the snow from their boots loudly enough to shake the house, which meant that he was here.

"Hermione?"

Her heart kickstarted at the sound of her name, spoken by his deep voice. The voice that was impossibly familiar, and brand new, all at once. His tall figure and shock of red hair appeared the doorway.

"Oh, _excellent_, cookies…"

He beelined for them, and she smiled.

"Careful, they're hot," she said mildly, knowing he would plow ahead either way. He shrugged and grinned at her, taking a bite anyways.

Ron looked like he might gag.

"Oh, bloody-" he spit out his mouthful, turning scandalized eyes on her, "Merlin's pants, Hermione, are you trying to kill me?!"

"What?" she cried indignantly, crossing the room in a flash to take one herself. "They can't be that bad. You are _so_ dramatic!"

She took a bite.

Hermione nearly gagged.

Ron smirked as he watched her face, and she forced herself to smile, chewing slowly and swallowing. She shrugged.

"Honestly Ron. You are so fussy. They're perfectly-"

Her eyes were watering and her throat was too dry from the aftertaste to finish her sentence. He burst out laughing, gathering her into his arms. She tried to object, tried to keep telling him off, but he pressed her head gently into his chest with a large, warm hand.

"Shhh," he said softly, his voice still rippling with laughter.

She gave up, and found herself giggling into his shaking chest.

"Thank you for trying," he whispered into her ear. She could hear the grin on his face. She kissed him in response.

The heat of the oven was as cozy as a hearth, and they spent their afternoon, lying there, in front of it.

Her best friend gave her a few more dares, and at the end of the day, the cookies remained the _only_ thing, that Hermione Granger did _not_ excel at.


	3. Reindeer

**3. Reindeer**

* * *

Draco stepped out into the night. The light of the moon was pale and ghostly, and he slipped into it seamlessly. He knew without having to count his footsteps, that he had passed beyond the barrier of Malfoy Manor; a sudden lightness eased the air, a weight lifted from his lungs.

He cleared his mind and disapparated.

This had become a game, a meditation of sorts for him as of late. He would focus on the sweetly elusive concept of absolute _nothingness _for as many split-seconds as he could, and would step into the void. He would know that nothingness expanded. - It would throw its black net over him and he would dissolve into it for a painfully tight breath. And he would find himself… somewhere surprising.

It was strange, surrendering your mind and letting your subconscious dictate where you will appear next. Like inviting the scattered settings of your dreams into wake-time existence.

On this night, when the shadowed grounds of Malfoy Manor disappeared, he opened his eyes to find that he had apparated into what appeared to be a Muggle suburb. He felt the derisive snort rise in his throat, and swallowed it sharply.

He was no longer going to allow himself to be such a predictable product of his breeding.

In his traveling cloak, hand-taylored trousers, and thick dragon-hide boots, money was the only visible factor that put him out of place here, so he walked on. It was, dare he say it, almost _fun_ to be somewhere so the opposite of Malfoy Manor.

Electric fairy lights lit up the boxy porches of nearly every house on the Culdesac, and warm lights glowed inside nearly every window. He looked skeptically around for a street sign, wondering why on earth his subconscious had led him here. There was a cross-street twenty meters down the lane, and he walked towards it, straining to see the neat letters in the dark.

_Privet Drive_.

Draco froze as if he had stumbled upon Voldemort himself. For a moment he nearly stepped automatically into darkness again, but something held him back. Some small, nagging curiosity. Some tiny, guilty wonderment.

This was Potter's street. Or his relative's street at least. He hadn't realized he even knew the name of it, but then again, it had been such a constant subject of so many summertime Death Eater meetings, that he supposed his subconscious hadn't had a choice.

Slowly, his feeling of mad panic at being caught by Potter, lurking on his muggle street, ebbed. Potter didn't even get on with his relatives, he was quite sure of that. Draco had to suppress another snort at this. What kind of _orphan_ did not get on with his remaining family, he did not know.

But. He was also no longer going to allow himself to be quite so proud when it came to matters like Potter. As insufferable and spoiled as Harry was, he had saved Draco's life when given an easy opportunity to just let him perish with absolutely no blood on his hands. And Draco could not seem to forget that entirely- much as he might like to.

He found that his feet had carried him to Number 4. The lights were on. A meticulously decorated Christmas tree stood staunchly in the corner, glittering with neat white lights. Draco wrinkled his nose, reminded of his mother's rigidly decorated tree at home. There was a strange, flickering bluish light on in a large downstairs window. Draco squinted at it, wondering if it could possibly be spell work, and realized with a shock that three faces were illuminated by the glow.

They were crowded together on a sofa, staring into the lights that seemed to be coming from a black shelf against the window. _A television_, Draco realized, staring at them with genuine interest. They all looked like they had been imperiused, so fixated were they on the screen. Something on it must have changed, Draco could hear a salesman's voice start up- abrasive enough to leak through the closed window, because all three of them got up. The lights went on, and a tall, bony woman bustled away.

There was a boy Draco's age, _quite_ overweight, and an even larger, squatter man who must be his father. They sat in silence on the couch, occasionally making stiff conversation. Draco cringed inwardly.

The woman came back with a tray of tea and biscuits, and they all ate and talked in that same forced, uncomfortable way. Draco knew that way all too well.

He tried to imagine Potter fitting into this mix, and found that he couldn't. These people seemed about as rigidly muggle as his own family was rigidly pureblood. He turned away and continued down the street, feeling hollow. He had thought it might be a laugh, to see Potter's ridiculous gene pool, but instead the few minutes had struck disturbingly close to home.

He walked brusquely, filled with a familiar hot anger. It was something only Potter could inspire in him, and after seven years Draco had been forced to admit to himself that it was not _purely _dislike. It was jealousy, a completely unfamiliar feeling of inferiority, that Potter put him up against.

His breath was bitter in the misty night air, as his mind swirled and raged against him. They actually came from _similar_ homes. Cold and rigid, uptight and superior. So how was it that _Potter_ had turned out so _good_ and _noble_, the '_hero that saved the world'_?

He was always _full_ of surprises, _wasn't he_.

Glowering, Draco slowed his pace. A large bay window was shining with firelight to his right. He could see the faces of four tiny children pressed up against it, watching the skies intently.

_Waiting for St. Nick,_ Draco thought with a smirk.

He kept watching them, however, and found to his surprise that after a minute, their faces of pure hopeful expectancy turned his smirk into a genuine smile. Glancing around to make sure no one could see him, he removed his wand from the inside pocket of his cloak.

He thought for a moment, and settled for something within his abilities.

Voice low, and wand motion limited to a light flourish, he performed a spell he had only ever _heard _of.

A shadow shot from his wand, rising higher and higher into the sky until it looked level with the moon. He pointed his wand towards the house, and a moment later, tinkling bells started up, just in front of the windowpane.

There was a shout, and then another, and then two more, and all the children began hopping up and down, clutching each other with delight and pointing frantically to the stags bounding through the night sky.

Draco smiled again, retreating backwards into the night. He could be surprising too. Only, it was in his legacy for people to never actually _see_ that. Look at all the good his father had done- the donations, the rebuilding projects- yet all anyone would ever make of it was that Lucious was _covering_ the stench of something _sinister_ he had done behind closed doors.

Draco pulled his cloak tighter around him as fresh snow began to fall. Maybe someday, before he was old and withered, someone might recognize that he was not the monster he sometimes acted.

For now, in the aftermath of the war, he would have to settle for those few people that did not openly scorn him. He watched the children, still shouting and laughing with uncontrollable excitement. For now, he would settle for a drink.

He cleared his mind and disapparated.


	4. Snowball Fights

**4. Snowball Fights**

* * *

George shut the door of his flat behind him with a soft 'click'. He walked down the wooden corridor, noticing for the hundredth time, how bizarre his lone footsteps sounded.

He walked down the stairs and towards the backdoor of the shop. No one stopped him, and he didn't know if that was because he was as much of a ghost as he felt, or if they just knew to leave him well alone.

He moved quickly towards the door, and exited the loud and sensory-intense shop of his own design, with haste. He didn't like the feel of being in there without Fred.

Snow swirled around him, and it took him a moment to adjust to the vast expanse of the outside world.

Last-minute shoppers and pub go-ers seemed to whiz by him as he stood, feeling vulnerable, in the doorway of his own premises. Funny, how everyone had kept moving while he had been so still.

After a minute he began to walk, letting his feet take him to The Three Broomsticks while his overwhelmed mind tried to re-enter the world of the living. He was struck more than ever by how very strange it was to be alone. Especially here on the wide cobblestone street of Hogsmeade- emptiness seemed to press in on him from all sides. Space! So much _vast space_.

He turned his thoughts to Ginny, his unlikely pillar of strength as of late, and let her pull him through the tunnel of uncertainty.

And then he felt it. That all-too familiar presence.

It tapped his shoulder and hid when he was least expecting it, seemed to ruffle his hair or trip him up in his most serious and melancholy moments. _You are being ridiculous_, it always seemed to say. Fred.

It seemed to hover beside him on the street, a shelter from the boundless winter that howled around him.

"Hullo, Fred," he said, cherishing the feel of the words.

There was no reply-of course there was no reply- but a moment later, he stepped onto a patch of black ice and skidded ludicrously, flailing his arms like a dancing ape.

"Oi!" he muttered, grinning. He could practically feel a matching grin beside him.

Still smiling, he picked up a handful of snow and chucked it into the void beside him. It sailed twenty feet, towards a shop front. In the instant he watched it go, George saw all the snowball fights he and Fred had ever had.

When it had nearly reached the glass, it slowed, stopped, and changed course to hurl itself back at him. It hit him in the chest, and he cried out at the sudden icy cold.

Looking up in shock, he saw his own reflection staring back at him from the shop window.

It was probably a rebounding charm-of course it was-but George could have sworn that for a _moment_, while he was staring shocked and open mouthed at the glass- his reflection had been grinning back at him.


	5. Ugly Sweaters

**5. Ugly Sweaters**

* * *

"Oi! Hermione! It's been a century down here!" Ron bellowed up the stairs.

There was no reply, and as his stomach grumbled, he cursed under his breath, aiming a kick at the banister.

He was wearing last year's Christmas sweater, perhaps the ugliest yet, and was regretting the choice. It itched his neck and made him feel generally self-conscious.

At last, the door of the upstairs bathroom opened, and Hermione hurried out. She was wearing a red sweater, and Ron grinned as she trotted down the stairs towards him.

"Oh, _good_, you're wearing yours too."

"My what?"

"Your ugly sweater. I was starting to think I'd have to go home and change- But I can't wait that long to eat."

Hermione started at him. Then her eyes narrowed. _Oh… no._ _What had he said_?

"My _what?_"

Ron's brain raced to figure out how he had answered the question wrong the first time around, but quickly seemed to jam. He was too _hungry_.

"Your… ugly sweater?" It came out much more meekly than he would have hoped to sound, when speaking to his girlfriend- but he had seen that look on her face too many times to _not_ be a little afraid.

"For your information Ron, I _bought_ this sweater today to wear to the party tonight," Hermione said in the clipped tone she adapted when he was meant to feel very, very stupid.

"Oh-" he nodded impressively, "It's lovely!"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously again.

"I'm sorry! It's gorgeous… it's… very festive. _Hermione,_" he grabbed her arm in panic as she made to turn up the stairs, "Please. I'm so hungry, there's not time for you to change."

Her eyes flashed. She was so beautiful when she was angry. Sometimes, he would even provoke her, just to see that flush in her cheeks. He smiled. Which was not to her taste at the moment.

"What."

"Nothing." He grinned, shrugging casually. "You've just worked up an appetite in me today."

Her cheeks went pink, and she smiled slowly. He took a risk,

"_And_… all I've had to eat for _hours_ were those cookies of yours-" he looked at her pointedly, "- which hardly qualified as food."

His risk paid off as she tried to clench her jaw, but burst out giggling instead. He leaned down to kiss her, then tugged on the sleeves of her sweater, addressing the clownish snowman on its front.

"C'mon, Ugly, let's go."


	6. Christmas Parties

**6. Christmas Party**

* * *

"Well, _Happy_ Holidays to you… Miss."

The wizard looked at Fleur lecherously, drawing his words out in what he obviously, and _most mistakenly_, thought was a sexy way.

"Ooh, yes! Et vous aussi!" She said dismissively, her smile fixed, lapsing into French in her vehement wish to _not_ have to be there.

He walked away and she turned, scowling, to survey the party. All the best of Gringotts was there. Which meant a whole hoard of Goblins, rich men, and vapid wives. She was the only curse breaker there at the moment, and was wishing desperately that she had been as clever as the rest were- and had skipped it all together.

Every time she turned her head, a ripple effect of men turned theirs quickly away, pretending they weren't staring. She tossed her hair and glared in their direction. Englishmen were so cowardly.

Her eyes fell onto one Englishman who was _not at all_ cowardly, and a smile broke out on her face. Ten heads turned magnetically towards her, but she did not care.

He had only just entered, and had not yet seen her. He was tall and elegant, as he always was, standing out like a sore thumb with his dragon hide boots, his ponytail, and his scarred face. It was _he_ who was truly the beautiful one, but he would never listen to Fleur when she tried to tell him that. Usually she would say it in a variety of flowery french ways, so his eyes would glaze and fill with lust, love and total agreement of whatever it was she was saying. She smiled with pleasure at the thought.

She could feel a buzz of attention on her, and suddenly was done. It was time to go. This was her absolute least favorite type of party. Filled with rich men, smug and wanton, arrogant enough to think that because they had _money_, they could charm _her_.

She looked through her rosiest pair of lenses towards her husband, who had come from no money at all, and who had charmed her like no other man in this world could.

She watched him talk to a group of colleagues by the door. With some his laugh was genuine, and it lit up the room like her smile could also do. With others, his grin was fixed, and she could almost see his stomach churning with disgust, but he always remained polite. So good and strong and _kind_, he was.

She drew nearer to him. He sensed the attention of everyone around him turn towards her and looked up as well. That was her favorite thing. He was all but immune to her unique powers.

She tested it, as she loved to do. She smiled at the man next to him, who looked like he might keel over, his eyes full of a sudden stupidity that was the root of everything obnoxious in a man. She turned the same smile on Bill, who smiled back confidently. His eyes were dancing, humorous, as they always were. And he was strong.

"It ees time to go," she stated, crossing her arms over her chest and looking pointedly up at him. He laughed lovingly, like he always laughed at her moods.

"Alright, boss, let's go."

He grinned and held out his arm. It was strong like steel and warm like a steed. She took it, grinning back, and they left- two hundred pairs of eyes on them and their unique charm.


	7. Mistletoe

**7. Mistletoe**

* * *

Luna finished her mug of butter beer, feeling a sudden sense of overwhelming sharpness. Her bladder was quite full, as were her ears, and she decided to excuse herself to the bathroom.

"I'll be right back, Hannah," she told her friend softly, sliding down from the barstool and drifting through the crowd towards the loo.

The loo was quiet and echoey, and she hummed to herself while she peed, enjoying the sound of just one soft voice, ringing and ringing through the stone.

She washed her hands, enjoying the warmth of the water, and the smell of the lavender soap. She left the loo.

Outside, there was a narrow corridor, and she had to blink a few times before her eyes adjusted to the dim light. She started to make her way down the corridor, and realized that the figure of a young man was standing in its dead center, blocking her way.

"Oh, hello!" she said brightly, recognizing who it was as she drew right up to him.

"Hi," he said, sounding unsure.

"It's quite festive out there, isn't it?" she said, conversationally, recognizing that her companion did not know what to say himself.

He shrugged.

"Did you mean what you said?" he asked softly, after a moment of silence.

Luna cocked her head, trying to remember _what_ she had said.

"Which part?" she asked, smiling kindly.

"That you think I'm… good." He sounded _most_ uncomfortable, staring at the wall a little ways behind her. She took one of his hands, thinking it might make him feel more relaxed.

"I did," she assured him, with another smile, "I have always thought that you seemed quite nice, really... but that you just didn't quite know how to talk to other children."

He looked away from the wall to stare at her. Then he nodded imperceptibly. Her heart felt for him. She remembered how much he had been disliked by everyone at school- save for a few kids in his own house. School had not been easy for her either. She told him so.

"Right," he said, shifting. It seemed to make him uncomfortable; hearing himself compared to 'Loony Lovegood'. She smiled again. He was quite uncomfortable in general.

He was still looking all around, everywhere but at her, and still seemed to have something to say. His gaze froze near the ceiling, and his whole body stilled- more uncomfortable than ever. Luna looked up.

"Oh! Mistletoe!" she exclaimed, grinning at the pretty pattern of leaves, and swatting at the air above her head, just in case. She looked back at him, and he seemed rooted to the spot.

Feeling bold in a way that she had only ever felt a few times before, she knew what the right thing to do was. She stepped forward, and leaned up. She kissed him softly, tasting hot vodka and peppermint, and smelling a rich aftershave.

His lips were surprisingly soft, for such a hard individual, and when he stopped being frozen, he grabbed her lower back and the side of her face with surprising care- for such a mean spirit.

They stayed under the mistletoe for a full five minutes, lost in the dark and the unexpected adventure.

When they broke apart, she smiled wider than ever.

"You are most definitely good. I think you just need to be okay with it."

He stared at her, and touching his hand again, she walked softly past him, to drift back through the crowd to her friends.


	8. Family

**8. Family**

_A/N: This plotline (Charlie/Cho) is a play on my story, The Patient In Room 17. Give it a read, if you are intrigued!_

* * *

Charlie entered the Three Broomsticks, and found himself looking around, full of hope.

_Crikey_, he thought, chuckling to himself and shaking his head. This was getting serious.

There was no sign of her though, and, acknowledging that his heart felt considerably sunken, he made his way over to the unmistakable table of his brothers.

_Ginny_ was working behind the bar, and he frowned after her, scanning the crowd for anyone who might be giving her trouble. His brotherly instincts did _not_ like her _being_, let alone working, in an atmosphere like this. Things seemed relatively copacetic however, so he satisfied himself by catching hold of her when she got near enough- squeezing her in a hug and ruffling her hair; making a mental note to keep an eye out for any wizards he may have to curse by the end of the night.

She squirmed away from him, but when she looked up, her face was indignant, but her eyes held only love, and he grinned back at her.

His baby sister. Working in a pub. _Crikey_.

He walked up to his brothers, and was instantly leapt upon, in a mock-dog-pile, in the middle of the bar. He realized that George was the one crushing his ribs and hollering in his ear, and his heart leapt as he hollered right back. _George_, out on Christmas Eve!

He greeted Hermione and Fleur with slightly less rowdy hugs, and clapped Harry on the back fondly.

"What are we drinking?" he asked, the obvious and only appropriate question.

"_Firewhiskey!_" several voices shouted back, and he grinned, feeling a tickle in his heart. Firewhiskey would always remind him of her, now.

He accepted his little glassful, and raised it in cheers, mentally cheers-ing Cho Chang before he brought it to his lips and knocked it back.

It burned brightly, as it had that night, five months ago, when he had been a post-war patient in St. Mungo's on Cho's first day tending to the ward. It had been a lucky coincidence- luckier _still_ when she had found an abandoned bottle of fire whiskey, and brought it to him in the night, in the hopes that it might raise his crushed spirits. It had. Or rather, _she_ had.

But he had been too stricken with grief to appreciate it properly then.

Now that his grief was ebbing ever so faintly, he found himself spending his dreams with her, re-living their short and emotionally charged conversation at odd times during the day, and dreaming of fresh ones during the night.

He tore his mind away from his own school-boyish thoughts, to join in the rowdy game his brothers were playing.

They were exuberant and celebratory as he had feared they might never be again, and it warmed his chest ten times more than any brand of fire whiskey ever could.

They were a family still. When Fred had died, he had felt sure that the crack would shake them for good, that they might never be whole again.

But like a broken bone heals stronger, so were the Weasleys. They were far from healed, the pain was still enormous every day, but as he stood in the roaring circle of his brothers, he felt the strength of their combined spirit shake the ground underneath him.

They were a family still.

Ron started belting a drinking song that Peeves had always sung around Hogwarts, and they all joined in. Charlie found himself gripped by arms around his back, and immediately gripped the boys on either side of him as they sang. The girls watched with bemused horror, and he found himself laughing.

They were a _family_, still.


	9. Christmas Movies

**9. Christmas Movies**

_A/N: Thanks for your reviews, CyrusLestrange. And you as well, Keetongirl! Thank you for your suggestion of writing one about Angelina Johnson- I already had the final two chapters of this very planned out already, but I like the idea of writing _something_ about her, sometime. Thank you for the idea._

_This chapter is a play on one of my _OTHER _stories, 'The Unbridled'. Couldn't help it!_

* * *

The doorbell rang with a holiday sort of chime, and Lily darted out of the kitchen.

"James?" she asked, looking around in confusion. The living room was empty, save for Harry, who looked at her inquisitively from his play pen. "Where's your father?"

Harry looked at her with round eyes, and said something that sounded like, "Aaga?"

Lily smiled, and went to answer the door herself. The worn oak creaked gently open to reveal the handsome face of Sirius Black, hardly visible behind a hat and voluminous scarf.

"Oh!" she grinned, her eyes lingering on the scarf, "Hello, Aunty Black…"

Sirius glared pointedly at her, before stamping the snow from his boots and rushing inside to wrap her in a hug. She shrieked a little as the fresh snow that covered his jacket melted instantly into her once dry clothes.

"Damn- Sorry." Sirius grinned, and hastily unbuttoned the thick wool garment, hanging it from the peg by the door. "How about now?"

He hugged her again, and Lily laughed, hugging him back fiercely. He was warm and solid, and the room seemed to brighten considerably, now that he was in it. She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment, cherishing the rare feeling of relief in her chest. He was her best friend as much as he was James', and she had _missed _him.

Sirius had made himself scarce since that night over a year ago, the day after her parents had died, when James had been unreachable on a mission for the Order. It had been Sirius who had gone with her to her parents house, and in the rare, uninhibited atmosphere that grief often created, he had confessed to the bleeding heart he had held for her for six years.

She pulled away and looked into his face. Yes, there it was. She could see the subtle traces of a love that was more than friendship, now that she knew it was there. She could also feel a new openness between them, where before there had always been a wall that had _frustrated _her to no end- that she could never explain or break down.

He nodded at her, smiling warmly, and she grinned back. She had been worried about him- prone as he was to recklessness and self-destruction. But he looked more at peace than he had in years. Sirius Black was the strongest wizard she knew; he was going to be fine.

She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed hers back, and she felt herself on the brink of happy tears.

He caught sight of Harry, blinking and smiling at the mysterious guest from his pen, and let out a strangled moan of delight.

"My _boy!_" he cried, making a beeline for Harry. "Christ, you're big."

He scooped the five-month-old baby up with loving hands, and cradled him against his chest, making a face of shock at Lily. She grinned, and the doorbell sounded again.

She frowned slightly. Sirius, she had expected, but no one else…

"_Remus_!" she gasped, upon opening the door for a second time. Remus smiled at her as he entered the room, hastily sliding off his snow-soaked coat.

"Merry Christmas, Lily," he said, sounding tired but pleased.

"But what-" Lily covered her mouth as she laughed delightedly, "what are you doing here? I thought you were in Transylvania!"

"We just finished there. James told me to come by," he held his arms out, shrugging, "Surprise."

They hugged, and Lily felt her heart swell as it had not done for weeks. They were _together_! On Christmas Eve!

She took Harry from Sirius so that the big, boisterous man could leap properly onto his other best friend and jump around excitedly a bit. She kissed the soft black hair on her sweet son's head as she watched the happy reunion. Harry looked rapidly from his Godfather and Remus, to Lily, his green eyes dancing like he _almost_ understood the touching scene.

There was a scuffling noise, and James emerged from down the hallway, lugging something massive in his wake.

"There you are! What on earth are you doing?" Lily laughed, "Everyone's here, James."

James looked up, and a wide grin cracked on his face at the sight of his two best friends. He crossed the room quickly, and embraced them both long and tightly, like the brothers they were. There was an excited jumble of talking for a minute, as they all attempted to catch up at once.

"No Wormtail?" Sirius asked.

"No, I couldn't get a hold of him. He may be on a mission." James replied, a little sadly. Sirius shrugged, clearly too happy to be with his friends to be all that chuffed that they were without Peter.

"Prongs," Sirius said, with a cocked eyebrow, staring at the massive plastic mass on the floor by the hallway, "care to explain?"

James grinned excitedly at Lily, and hopped over the sofa to stand proudly behind the black boxy shape.

"Yes! Lil… I have a present for you," he pointed dramatically to the thing, and then crouched quickly to rotate it, "damn. Hold on a second."

With a grunt, he turned it around, and Lily gasped with recognition. It was a _television_. Upside-down and outdated, but it was a television. James picked up a smaller box and held it up. It was a video copy of 'The Year Without Santa Claus'. Lily laughed with disbelief, feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes. It had been her family tradition to watch this movie every Christmas Eve, until she had moved out of her parent's house.

"I know the past few weeks haven't been easy for us. For you," James continued his wrestle with the TV, bringing it farther into the room. With an amused smile and a pointed look, Sirius got out his wand and levitated it for him, "Oh- yeah. Thanks mate… got too into the muggle mindset there." He looked at Lily, and she could see her own happiness to be with their friends reflected clearly in his face,

"I thought it might cheer you up to celebrate Christmas Eve with your family… like you used to."

Eyes blurry with tears, Lily could only nod wildly, and cross the room to embrace James. They broke apart and she looked back and forth from the four men (and very, very, _young_ man), whom she loved more than anyone else in this world. She bounced excitedly on her toes, reaching for the video in James' hands,

"Well! We- We have to make _popcorn_!" She cried, clutching the movie to her chest. James ran a soft hand over her back, and Remus chuckled.

Sirius' eyes were dancing, like they always did when she was overexcited, and he nodded in enthusiastic agreement at the proposal of a snack.

She passed Harry gently to James, and skipped into the kitchen, to start preparations. Emerging ten minutes later, with a big bowl of buttery popped corn, and a plate of holiday cookies, she caught the Marauders in the midst of a most amusing endeavor.

They were all on the floor, struggling to figure out how to work the television. James was prodding at it with his wand. He had, at least, figured out where to pop the video in. Sirius was poking at different buttons, glaring at the machine with distinct mistrust, and Remus was watching the other two with thoughtful bemusement. Lily could clearly see the power chord lying untouched on the floor next to James.

"Here," she chuckled, setting the food down on the coffee table, and crouching down to join them. She plugged the TV into the wall, and pressed the power button. It came to life with the electronic buzz that she hadn't heard in years.

"Blimey," James said, starting at the motion of the screen.

"Oh, of course, the electrical socket," said Remus, nodding sagely at the one electrical outlet that Lily had convinced James not to get rid of when they had moved into this particular safe house, in the calm little muggle neighborhood of Burnage.

"This thing reminds me an awful lot of a mirror my mum used to have," Sirius said with a pointed look, "I got sucked into it when I was a kid- for three days mind, before she realized I was gone."

"Oh, there's nothing dark about a _television_. It's for entertainment- It's fun!" Lily ushered them all towards the couches, and cued up the tape.

They spent the next hour and a half lost in the world of Muggle entertainment. Lily had a hard time keeping her eyes on the movie, and found herself instead watching the three men, and one baby, on the couch next to her; all utterly transfixed with the foreign story on the fuzzy screen.

Once the spell had broken, they spent the next few hours talking and laughing, reclining on the couch- plied with sugar and wine.

Lily had Harry, whose bedtime had come and gone a good hour ago, on her lap, cherishing the feel of his soft little warm body on hers.

"Just think, Harry," she said to the group at large, when the conversation had lulled, "one day _you_ will have a group of friends who are just as wonderfully idiotic as the people in this room-"

"-not likely-," interjected Sirius.

"- and you will be old enough to drink wine, and kiss someone under the mistletoe, and you will be lucky enough to spend Christmas Eve with _your _family- the people you love more than anything in the world."

She kissed his head, and the room quieted as she and the three Marauders sat in thought. The unspoken part of Lily's words was ringing in everyone's mind.

_It would take a great deal of luck for those words to one day be true._


	10. Gifts

_MERRY CHRISTMAS, everyone! I typed this in the car as my boyfriend and I drove to my parents' place for Christmas, and made myself quite carsick... ;) _

_This has been a lot of fun, thanks for reading. _

**10. Gifts**

Harry felt as though he were in a snow globe. The level of merriment in the Three Broomsticks had reached such a pitch that the very lines of reality seemed glassy and glittering. He could _feel_ magic swirling in the air around him, tangible as the tinkling of bells, and he felt _warm._

It also helped that George had taken it upon himself to make it snow over their table.

Beside him, a very drunk Ron was attempting to climb onto the table, so as better to serenade the bar at large with yet another one of the drinking songs that he somehow had seemed to retain from Peeves' vast stockpile at Hogwarts.

Harry caught Hermione's eye and grinned. She grinned back, looking rather drink-flushed herself.

"Can't have that!" came a voice beside Harry. He looked over to see Charlie staring pointedly at the empty glass in front of him. Harry shrugged, feeling distinctly fuzzy around the edges already, and Charlie smirked and slid his own nearly-full glass towards him. Harry took a sip of a mysterious maroon liquid, tasting a thick, exotic fruit, and feeling a pleasant burn down his throat.

"Hey-" Ginny had squeezed her way over to their table, looking like she was in a mild state of shock.

"-What?" Charlie asked sharply, taking in her wide eyes, and looking instantly as though he had been hit in the chest with a swelling charm.

"Nothing like that," Ginny assured him quickly, with the hint of a smile on her lips. Harry watched it dance around her mouth, and felt a smile of his own growing on his face. Charlie raised an eyebrow expectantly, looking like he would decide whether or not it was '_nothing_' for himself.

"No, honestly Charlie. It's just that I ran into Luna a moment ago-"

The door to the pub opened, and upon glancing casually around, Charlie had frozen. Harry looked towards the door and saw a heavily bundled Cho Chang standing in the doorway, looking very relieved to be in the warmth. He couldn't help the mild stab of panic that went through him at the sight of her, and felt immediately ridiculous.

He turned back to Ginny, to hear what she had to tell them, but her eyebrows were raised as she looked at Charlie. A slow grin was spreading across his face. He stood as though in a trance, and started to cross the bar as if he had forgotten they were even there.

"What was that about?" Ginny asked Harry, looking confused. He shrugged.

"Dunno… what were you about to tell us?"

Ginny, still looking after her brother, started a little, and turned wide eyes on Harry.

"_Right_. Harry, I just ran into Luna a moment ago," she dropped her voice, and leaned closer. Harry's blood seemed to boil. "And she told me she had just been under the mistletoe with someone-"

"Luna?" Harry asked, amused at the thought. "But what about the nargles?"

Ginny waved this statement away,

"I know, but listen. I kept an eye on the doorway, just out of curiosity, and _Malfoy_ came out a minute later."

She looked at him with pointed disbelief, and Harry laughed.

"So?"

"Harry!" Ginny laughed, pushing him gently so he swayed. She immediately gripped his arm to steady him, grinning. "Sorry. Harry, he looked _very_ disheveled. I'm almost sure she was with him! They had a very strange moment when I was serving him…"

Harry found that he couldn't take her words in, scandalous as they might be. All he could do was watch her face change as she talked, and revel in the brand-new-found ease they seemed to have discovered with each other tonight. She had been so distant for months- most understandably- she had been grieving, as they all were, for Fred and the others they had lost. But he could see her clearly again now. _Ginny_, the most beautiful and spirited girl he had ever met. He had _missed_ her.

He suddenly became aware of the small package in his right pocket, wrapped as tidily as he could manage, and stowed there hopefully- in the happy case that he might be able to _really_ talk to her tonight. He grinned at her slowly. She grinned back, obviously amused at his mildly drunken state.

"Ginny," he said formally, trying and failing to keep his face serious. Her grin grew wider. "Can I have a word?"

She nodded, and he stood up, to lead her back outside- to the quiet haven of snow that had somehow been the frosty beauty that had finally broken the ice between them.

She followed wordlessly, not able to keep her own face straight, and he felt luck on his side.

Happiness had returned to them for Christmas.


End file.
